


broken thoughts and missing words

by starsupernova



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, M/M, Muteness, Other, POV Second Person, Recovery, this was supposed to be solangelo from an outside pov but then i got caught up in my oc, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 00:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5986657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsupernova/pseuds/starsupernova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What's your name?”</p><p>You want to answer but you can't and it almost makes you want to cry again.</p><p>You write your name on Will’s palm and watches as his lips form a perfect ‘o’.</p><p>The smile is still sad. You smile nonetheless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	broken thoughts and missing words

**Author's Note:**

> idk my first pjo fic,,, i hope you enjoy it!!  
> i kinda developed my character way more than i planned, but i ended up liking how this fic turned out!

You're small and thin with dark brown hair and just barely fourteen, and you're crouched against the stone wall, shivering in the cold night air. **  
**

You remember screams and a shatter and you realizes you're still bleeding from the wound in your left side.

It doesn't hurt, numbed by cold and heartbreak, so you wrap yourself tighter in your own arms.

And you come to face the fact of death.

“Hi.”

You look up and the sun almost blinds you.

It's not the sun—it's a boy.

There is a boy with bright blond hair and a soft smile on his lips, arm stretched out to you.

The dark clouds around you clear away.

“I'm Will Solace. I'm here to help.”

You want to make room for this boy.

You grab his hand and your lips tilt up a little in a sad sad smile.

* * *

You've known you are different.

Whether that is a good or bad thing—you don't know.

There's an empty bus and Will leads you to it.

You cannot sound out the word, but you think that it would be nice to say Will.

The driver is a man with eyes all over his body. You’ve seen him before.

The man nods once.

There's a long seat in the back and you sit down on it, ankles clicking together as Will rubs some sort of a salve over the spot where your shirt is ripped and you are bleeding.

You understand the Greek words that spill out of Will’s mouth.

He rummages through a backpack when he’s done and pulls out a shirt that's definitely much too big on you, and he turns away as you pull it over your head.

It's soft and falls down to your thighs and it smells like laundry detergent and orange flavored chewing gum.

You curl your fingers around the hem protectively.

Will takes out a plastic bag and a square of something pale pink and soft to touch.

You put it in your mouth tentatively and it tastes like your mother’s apple pie.

It tastes like home, and the pain vanishes.

It takes Will until he turns around to face you to notice that you're crying, because even your tears are pin drop silent.

* * *

You spend most of the long drive to wherever the hell you’re going curled up against Will’s side. He’s warm and his arm around you is comforting.

You've stopped crying.

“You're quiet,” he says.

His voice is musical and his hands are large and his thumbs involuntarily rub circles on your shoulder.

“What's your name?”

You want to answer but you can't and it almost makes you want to cry again.

You write your name on Will’s palm and watches as his lips form a perfect ‘o’.

The smile is still sad. You smile nonetheless.

* * *

Somewhere during the 39 hour drive from Washington State to wherever the hell you were going, you realize you like Will.

Not like _that_ ; it being like _that_ sounds wrong in your mind.

You don't like Will. You like his voice and his hands and his warmth.

You like someone like him, but Will seems too brotherly for _that_ kind of like, even though you've only known him for around 45 hours.

You would like someone like him.

You don't like him because you might not be able to talk but you're perceptive and Will had been smiling down at his phone for half of the 45 hours and the contact name of who he is texting is Death Boy.

With a heart on the end.

You've only known Will for 45 hours, but you're glad he can smile like you cannot.

* * *

You're going to a Camp Half-Blood.

He tells you that you're half god and half human.

You don't know if that's good or bad.

* * *

It's night when you arrive and as soon as you step through the gates, you can hear lively chattering. Will smiles and takes your hand and pulls you toward the bonfire.

He shouts to get everybody’s attention and introduces you to them. Everyone’s smiling and cheering and then it stops and everyone's eyes turn to something on top of your head.

“It's a sun,” you hear someone whisper.

Will grins, and you almost think he's the sun again, and he claps his hands on your shoulders.

“Congratulations. I'm your new brother.”

Your heart drops, but only a little.

* * *

You like the Apollo cabin. It's bright gold and everyone smiles and hugs you.

“She's probably just quiet,” someone says.

You're bursting with things to say.

Mr. D somehow seems to not dislike you, and Will laughs and looks surprised because “Mr. D doesn't like anybody” which draws a small smile from you.

Will talks to you while he gives you the tour, even though you can't respond. You learn that he's seventeen and has been in camp for “literally forever”.

You meet a girl and a boy, Lou Ellen and Cecil, who ask you what your name is. You scribble it down on a piece of paper and hold it out to them.

It's amusing how their mouths form the same ‘o’ as Will’s did.

* * *

Somewhere between the climbing wall and the stables, there is a boy.

He's beautiful in the skin deep way that you find most people beautiful, dark hair and pale skin and lithe limbs.

His shirt has a skeleton dressed as a detective on it which reads “Sherlock Bones” and your lips twitch at the pun.

Will seems to glow when he sees the boy.

They practically run to each other and kiss, so you cover your eyes with your hands.

They chatter for a few minutes and then it ends in a smirk and a shoulder punch.

Will points towards the direction of the training area, and beckons you along, the boy (ah, he MUST be Death Boy) following suit.

As it turns out, you are a natural at archery.

* * *

Your stamina isn't the greatest yet, so you sit on the bench with Death Boy as Will continues shooting.

You turn to him and cock your head in a questioning manner.

He seems to understand.  

“Nico di Angelo.”

Angel of the Dead.

Your mother was Italian after all.

You don't answer.

“How are you liking camp?”

You can't answer that without your words so you draw in a breath and gesture to your mouth and then you draw a line across your neck.

Nico’s mouth doesn't form an ‘o’ but it curls up into a smile and he lifts his arms.

_I know sign language._

You light up at this, literally, your skin feels like it's shining and then you realize it is and you blush.

_That happens to Will sometimes._

You grin at Nico and lift your hands as well.

_Are you Death Boy?_

Nico seems to flush and you smirk.

_Did Will tell you that?_

You shake your head no.

_I saw his contact for you on his phone._

Nico slumps his shoulders.

_Well, he's going to get a talk about that._

You laugh as best as you can without being able to make any sound.

_Does your name mean Angel of the Dead?_

Nico’s eyes widen.

_Do you know Italian?_

You nod and Nico continues.

_My dad’s Hades but my mom was Italian._

Nico’s hands are shaking softly and you don’t press the topic.

_My mom was Italian too. I could speak it too until…_

You gesture at yourself. Nico’s eyes flicker across your throat and he waits a second before responding.

_What happened?_

You drop your hands and shake your head.

_I don't want to say._

A vague smile flits across his lips and he nods.

_I understand._

You smile. You’re getting better at not making it so sad.

* * *

Will gets you a whiteboard and markers from the Athena cabin, which is how you talk to your cabin for the first few days.

A boy named Austin shows you his guitar.

You’re a natural at that too.

You go with Will to the infirmary often. You meet more people, until the names mix up and collide in your head.

Nico’s always there. You don’t forget that.

Your cabin members learn sign language and soon half the camp can talk to you and you’re suddenly happy.

Happier than ever.

Until you sleep at night and the shattering and screaming return.

You drag yourself around camp everyday, sleeplessness weighing you down like stones.

Will and Nico make you happy, you realize, but they make each other happier.

At meals, Nico sits next to Will and you sit next to Will and Will smiles at Nico like he's the sun.

You’re happy for your new brother, but it's hard to feel happy when you’re not.

* * *

You’re bitter too, in a way, because you’d suffered all your life because of how poor you and your mother had been.

You’d lost your voice for your mother and your mother had lost her soul for you.

Later, the night before Will had found you, she had lost her life.

All along, a god had been your father.

You’d be lying if you didn't silently curse Apollo when you woke up from a particularly long and dreadful nightmare.

Will tells you that he's never met their father except through voice. Only a small few of your siblings (it was funny calling them that) have actually seen him face to face before.

You swear that you’ll meet him, even if you have to send a thousand curses and prayers to Olympus.

You don’t have to.

It's days, weeks since you cursed Apollo from your bunk.

Will and Nico have left the dock already and you don’t really want to know what they're doing in the Hades cabin.

A pang of something flashes through you.

Jealousy? Longing?

Sadness?

“Hello.”

You whip your head towards the new person sitting next to you.

He looks around twenty five and there's a pair of headphones around his neck. You might have mistaken him for a college student if he wasn't glowing, which was a telltale sign of who he is.

You don’t know how to sign Apollo and there's no way you’re going to call him “Father” or “Dad” or anything of the sort so you settle for—

_Hi._

Apollo laughs. “You probably shouldn't use my name when you curse at me. Names are powerful.”

_I can't speak, how on Earth could I have said your name?_

“Thoughts speak louder than words, my dear daughter.”

Your fists tighten involuntarily but he _is_ a god even if he is your father, you don’t want to risk the fact that he might smite you if you made a wrong move.

You’re sure Apollo didn't miss the movement because he speaks again.

“You're angry at me. Which is understandable.”

Your hands fly.

_Angry? I’m sorry but I'm much more than that. You left my mother and I to make sacrifice after sacrifice. I can't believe she even had a thing for you._

Apollo raises an eyebrow. “Isn't that a little harsh?”

You shake your head no, because you’re not going to lie to a god either.

You’re lucky that you haven’t been killed yet, in your opinion.

“I really did love your mother, you know. She was beautiful.”

It makes your blood boil to see someone who hadn't even cared talk about her like that but it's true after all.

_You ruined my life._

Apollo has the decency to look mournful. “I know.

No you don't, you want to say.

 _Goodbye_ , you say instead.

“You know, I named you. I think that you turned out like your name.”

Is that a bad thing?

“I hope not.”

Apollo begins to glow again and your breath hitches.

_Wait._

A pause.

“What is it?”

You swallow, throat uncomfortably tight.

_Can a demigod be happy?_

It's full seconds until Apollo responds, shaking his head sadly. “Until next time, my daughter.”

A bright light sparks and you shut your eyes.

When you open them again, he's gone.

* * *

It's your fourth time playing Capture The Flag and you're still absolutely terrible so Will makes you and your eleven year old sibling be lookouts near the flag.

You sit on a tree branch and watch the girl below you mill about as you hear sounds of clashing and screaming from a distance.

You wouldn't particularly _want_ to really participate in this game, you realize. Competitiveness has never really been your thing.

So you relax, let down your guard, and fall asleep against the tree.

You wake up to shouts of both joy and dismay and you crack open your eyes. The clearing is filled with campers and Will is staring at you.

You see that the flag has been taken and you mouth “I'm sorry” and as Will shakes his head amusedly, you look at the boy who has the flag in his hands.

It's the new Hermes kid and the glint in his eyes promises something as he locks eyes with you.

His eyes shine brighter than Will’s do.

* * *

You're broken, mending, healing, but it still hurts to see trust and love and any of those things that you do not possess within your too small fourteen year old body.

(Despite being fourteen as well, Nico is ages beyond you in maturity and in heart and in experience.)

(You still wonder why he pauses that way whenever he says your name.)

The sun is shining like it always is and the pleasant breeze blows past, disheveling your short hair.

You watch Nico and Will from the bench, as Will smiles and opens a soda can and Nico takes his hand.

You can't help but stare at sunshine and shadow and harmony is one thing that you have seen but will never know how to accomplish.

“Hey,” a voice from near you says and Annabeth Chase sits down next to you.

She's one of the prettiest people you’ve ever seen in your life and her heart is pure gold to you and everyone around you.

_Hi._

“You alright?” she asks and you shrug.

_Yeah, I guess._

Annabeth looks a little skeptical but you look away and she touches your leg lightly as a sign of comfort.

“Okay. But don't be afraid to ask for help if you need anything.”

You smile and nod as she stands back up and walks away.

A turned back is such a common sight for you, even if not born out of contempt.

You turn your eyes back to the two lovebirds and you wonder why the ideas of completeness and adoration attract you so much.

You know you cannot be fixed yet you wish you could make yourself whole again.

Someone sits down next to you.

You dare to look and it's the new Hermes kid who looks about your age but his smile is less dulled with pain.

It intrigues you.

“Hi,” he says and his voice is smooth and warm like honey. “What's your name?”

You gesture to your mouth and then you draw a line across your neck and his mouth makes that perfectly round ‘o’.

You lift his hand and trace your name onto his dark chocolate skin.

_Maria._

**Author's Note:**

> my [tumblr](http://stxrsupernova.tumblr.com/) & my [twitter](https://twitter.com/kiribakus)


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